21 – Bloodlines and Battlelines

Bloodlines and Battlelines

The woods around the manor rubble stood silent, fog thinning as Raven Hollow's dawn bled gray over the trees. Liam sat on a jagged stone, bat beside him, his chest, leg, and shoulder a crimson mess of bandages—pain a forge he hammered into resolve. His mom huddled nearby, tunnel map discarded, her hands steady but eyes wild with the truth: their blood, their curse. Maya clutched her sketchbook, ancestors' faces sketched in harsh lines, her bandaged hand trembling, runes dark. Sofia sharpened her wrench on a rock, Luna patched and growling beside her, her fierce spirit a blade dulled by doubt. Ethan rigged the radio, crowbar dented, static hissing—"…bloodline confirmed… Raven Hollow…"—his ear and leg leaking red, anger simmering. Noah pored over journal scraps, glasses gone, blind but sharp, Elias's truth a weight in his voice.

"'The willing feed it,'" Noah said, tracing a soaked page by touch. "'Blood of the founders—1691, a pact sealed. Elias bound it, but they kept it alive.' We're not just targets—we're the fuel."

"Our families," Liam growled, badge—Eclipse Protocol—heavy, his dad's death a reopened scar. "They chose this?"

"Power," Noah replied, voice steady despite his squint. "Elias says they traded lives for it—crops, wealth, control. The Watcher gave, they paid."

Maya's pencil scratched, ancestors glaring from the page. "And us? Born cursed?"

"Born tied," Noah corrected, journal trembling. "Carter was a vessel—Protocol's puppet—but our blood's the root. We woke it."

Liam's mom stood, voice breaking. "Your dad—he found proof in the lab. Names—ours, theirs. Tried to burn it—died for it."

Liam met her eyes, trust a ruin. "And you let it fester?"

"I didn't know," she sobbed, hands clutching air. "He hid it—I ran—thought it was over!"

A pulse hummed—soft, deep, from their own chests, not the rubble. Luna growled, ears flat, as the fog shifted, the air alive—a heartbeat, theirs, ancient. The group grabbed weapons—bat, wrench, crowbar, knife—Liam standing, pain a spur, badge pocketed.

"It's us," Sofia hissed, wrench up, Luna tense. "Still calling?"

"No," Noah said, journal falling. "It's awake—inside us—listening."

The hum grew—blood pounding, not the Watcher's, but theirs—shadows flickering in their eyes, not the fog. Liam's hand shook, bat slipping—his dad's voice rasped: "Son…" Sofia's wrench trembled, abuela's plea—"Mi niña…"—Maya's knife wavered, aunt's cry—"Run…"—Ethan's crowbar tightened, Carter's scream—"Help…"—Noah clutched his head, Elias's whisper—"Willing…"

"Fight it!" Liam roared, shaking it off, badge a burn. "It's us—not them!"

Maya smeared blood on a rune, shouting—"Bind it!"—light flaring, the hum dulling, shadows fading. They panted, scars aching—not marks, but lineage, a pull deep in their veins.

"It's not sealed," Noah gasped, blind eyes wide. "Carter's gone, but we're the bridge—always were."

Ethan's radio sparked—"…team inbound… bloodline priority…"—cutting off. "Protocol," he growled, crowbar up. "They know."

"Then we hit first," Liam said, voice steel, bat slick, helping his mom stand. "Lab's gone, tunnels collapsed—where's their base?"

"Town," Noah said, memory sharp. "Elias hints—founders built under it—old chambers, Protocol's roots."

Sofia nodded, fierce despite doubt. "We end it—us, them."

Headlights flared—close, roaring through the trees. Radios crackled: "Targets in sight… neutralize…" Liam dove behind rubble, dragging his mom, bat swinging as an operative lunged—rifle butt cracking his chest, blood hot. He roared, tire iron smashing the man's knee, dropping him. Sofia's wrench thudded a helmet, Luna biting, Ethan's crowbar bashed, Maya slashed, Noah ducked, rune wood flaring.

Gunfire erupted—bullets shredding wood, grazing Liam's leg, pain exploding. "Move!" he yelled, shoving his mom, tire iron flying, cracking a rifle. The group bolted—woods a maze, fog thinning, operatives shouting: "Fan out!"

The town loomed—streetlights flickering, a ghost town waking. They hit an alley, panting, Luna limping, operatives closing—radios buzzing: "Subjects moving south!" Liam led, badge heavy, pain a forge—town hall ahead, brick dark, a shadow of secrets.

"Basement again?" Sofia asked, wrench up, fierce.

"Deeper," Noah said, blind but sure. "Under—founders' chambers."

Ethan kicked a dumpster aside—manhole, rusted, gaping. "Here," he growled, crowbar prying it open, clang echoing. They slid in—dark, wet, air pulsing, not the ley line but something older, alive.

The tunnel stretched—walls stone, carved with runes, not Elias's but cruder, 1691's pact. The hum returned—not the Watcher, but their blood, beating. Shadows flickered—ancestors again, flesh not ichor, smiling, silent, watching.

"They're us," Maya whispered, knife up, rune flaring. "Still here."

Liam swung, bat cracking a skull—blood sprayed, human, his own face staring back. "No!" he roared, tire iron slashing, Sofia's wrench smashing, Ethan's crowbar bashing, Maya's knife slashing—they fell, piling, bleeding, not fading.

Noah chanted—"Bind the willing…"—rune pulsing, light searing, ancestors staggering, dissolving at last, the hum dulling. "It's us," he panted, blind eyes wet. "We have to choose—break it."

A thud above—boots, operatives breaching the manhole, rifles ready. "They're in!" Sofia yelled, wrench up, Luna growling.

Liam grabbed a rune stone—old, glowing, blood-slick—and smashed it—cracks exploding, light flaring, the tunnel shaking. "Out!" he roared, dragging his mom, the group scrambling, stones collapsing, the hum— theirs—faltering, not dying.

They burst into an alley, fog thin, operatives shouting—"Anomaly active… pull back!"—rifles retreating, SUVs roaring off, silence falling. Liam collapsed, bloodied, badge heavy, his mom clutching him, panting.

"It's us," she whispered, tears streaking. "We're the pact."

Maya checked her rune—no glow, but a pull, deep. "We can't seal it—only break it."

Sofia's wrench trembled, fierce. "How?"

"Us," Noah said, blind, journal gone. "Our blood—end the line."

Ethan wiped blood from his leg, grim. "Kill ourselves? Screw that."

"No," Liam said, badge gleaming, resolve steel, standing despite pain. "We burn them—Protocol, founders' legacy—us if we have to."

The fog lifted, dawn cold, a heartbeat lingered—theirs, a curse unbroken.

Later, they hid in the alley—town hall looming, wounds patched, truth a noose. Liam's mom sat, steady, eyes hard. Maya sketched, Sofia sharpened, Ethan rigged, Noah spoke scraps by memory.

"We're the war," Liam said, badge in hand, voice low. "Not just it—us against us."

"Then we fight," Maya replied, pencil firm, runes dark. "Them—ourselves—the curse."

Sofia nodded, fierce. "For Luna—for them."

Ethan smirked, grim, radio sparking—"…bloodline threat…" "Round eleven."

Noah smiled, blind, calm. "We've got the pact. Let's tear it."

Outside, the town woke—a heartbeat pulsed—their own, a battle begun….